Clara looked puzzled for a moment—she had forgotten that that was what they called the picnic spot on the Guadalupe.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“I doubt you can get Woodrow Call to go to your picnic,” Augustus said. “He’ll be wanting to get back to work.” But Call went. He had come back to the house, still trying to think of a way to talk Clara down on the horses, only to find the girls loading a small wagon, Lorena holding a baby, and Gus carrying a crock of buttermilk.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Clara nodded and went back to packing the picnic basket. “If that was all you accomplished you could have done it in Ogallala and been a friend to me,” she said. “I lost three boys, Gus. I needed a friend.” “You ought to wrote me that, then,” he said. “I didn’t know.” Clara’s mouth tightened. “I hope I meet a man sometime in my life who can figure such things out,” she said. “I wrote you but I tore up the letters. I figured if you didn’t come of your own accord you wouldn’t be no good to me anyway.” “Well, you was married,” he said, not knowing why he bothered to argue.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Ma, shall we take buttermilk?” Betsey asked. She and Sally had changed dresses without their mother’s permission, and were so excited by the prospect of a picnic that they could hardly keep still.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“You girls go catch three pullets,” she said. “I imagine Miss Wood is tired of eating beefsteak. It’s such a fair day, we might want to picnic a little later.” “Oh, Ma, let’s do,” Sally said. She loved picnics.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“It weren’t that simple,” Augustus said, looking at the creek and the little grove of trees and remembering all the happiness he had had there. He turned old Malaria and they rode on toward Austin, though the memory of Clara was as fresh in his mind as if it were her, not Woodrow Call, who rode beside him. She had had her vanities, mainly clothes. He used to tease her by saying he had never seen her in the same dress twice, but Clara just laughed. When his second wife died and he was free to propose, he did one day, on a picnic to the place they called her orchard, and she refused instantly, without losing a trace of her merriment.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Well if I don’t, I don’t,” Call said. “I sure don’t so far.” “I call this Clara’s orchard,” Augustus said. “Me and her discovered it one day while on a buggy ride. We come out here on picnics many a time.” “Oh,” Call said. “I might have known it would have something to do with her. I doubt there’s another human being over whom you’d shed a tear.” Augustus wiped his eyes with his fingers. “Well, Clara was lovely,” he said. “I expect it was the major mistake of my life, letting her slip by. Only you don’t understand that, because you don’t appreciate women.” “If she didn’t want to marry you I don’t guess there was much you could have done about it,” Call said, feeling awkward.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“But it’s my view that very few women are fools, and only a fool would pick you for a chore like that, Jake. You’ll do fine for a barn dance or a cakewalk, or maybe a picnic, but house building and brat raising ain’t exactly your line.” Jake kept quiet. He knew that silence was the best defense once Augustus got wound up. It might take him a while to talk himself out, if left alone, but any response would just encourage him.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

how was the picnic last month?
>> 2309-World Rally Championship-WRC

570. In the fiction, the victim of the conflict pictured the picnic after victory.
>> 800句帮助你记相似单词的句子

He stands among the children, an alien in this land without fear. He watches people at picnic tables laughing and listening to portable music. Kids squeal. Dogs bark.
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Yes, it's a sort of picnic?
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And your choice is... Well, I'm gonna go with the picnic shoulder, 'cause, um, I just love smoking pigs.
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The picnic shoulder is a favorite of those who enjoy the smoking of pigs.
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Hello, are we having a picnic?
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FORREST (V.O.) I, I... don't recall what I got for my first Christmas and I don't know when I went on my first outdoor picnic. But, I do remember the first time I heard the sweetiest voice... INT. BUS - MORNING (1954) Young Forrest is still standing in the aisle on the bus.
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